To all queer creatures of the future: you deserve the world.
Can be used in tandem with a deck of tarot cards, or read as a poem.
0 Blessed be your foolishness, sacred and curious. Queer sparks scatter all over the universe and ignite the fire of life, ever-changing quantum particles of universal queer love. Through the journey of our queer souls, what we touch becomes erotic. Blessed be your bravery. Blessed be your journey. Blessed be you, the foetus of a queer future, yet to be born.
1 Blessed be your magic, tools at hand, free to choose, no form, all emerging, endless potential. Don’t be fooled; the world wants more. Turn the tables, throw the tools around and play with them, find your focus. Your love is pure – experiment with experiencing it.
2 Sacred is your wisdom, blessed be your patience, for you incubate all lovers to come. Blessed be the dialogue, the love, the time we wait until someone texts us back on Tinder, for we are lonely sometimes.
3 You rule over us, empress of the divine spring. Unleash your lust so that we may kiss a Dyke for President, fuck the pain away, and enter the caves carved into the outskirts of society and call them clubs.
4 You rule and govern all, including those who fear to be queer. But don’t stand still: the future needs you to move. Rest, father, but don’t get attached – the sun might burn you alive. The blossom of your stability knows both the hardened tissue of trauma and the soft skin of fleeting lovers.
5 Blessed be your teaching, bridge to higher realms of consciousness. For without the queers, the straights couldn’t see. For without the queers, the world would be grey. For without the queers, the gap to the next world couldn’t be bridged. We are sacred.
6 Blessed be your poly, your holy, your love. Blessed be your lush lust. Blessed be the trinity of lovers: now, now, and now. Memories are just stories, but your mouth tells me that the enzymes in its spit are ready to dance.
7 Strong is the will to explore, and sacred your vow to serve the world. Blessed be the horses of your desire, your strength and your armor. Your beauty stems from wisdom and patience and it is your vision that translates into the fighting fist of intersecting deviant desires.
8 Blessed be your sword, that divides what’s to be left behind. Judge us and there will be no tomorrow necessary, for it is now that we can act. Your cold eyes are rich in love, your dress is where we seek refuge. Make us strong – for our minds are much needed in the battles ahead.
9 The long night of the soul, blessed. The tears, the cuts, the blood, blessed. The hours on Grindr, blessed. The surgeries, blessed, the insults, blessed, the brothers and sisters and demons and siblings of non-biological chosen kinship, blessed. The first kiss not returned, blessed. The grudge held inside, blessed. No matter how deep you go into the depth of your soul, let the light of your queer fire guide you.
THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE
10 Point of no return, sacred and scary. Holy the seraphim, holy the history, Herstory, from now on all pornographers are obliged to do post-porn: more niche, yet less defined. Bio dildos swing as our swords and our mouths will speak the spit wet truth of a sad lol.
11 Open your mouth so I can close it for you. The spit of the creature swallowed, where are you going to head? You’ve come this far – blessed is your path. Meander not, don’t get lost, you initiate the second cycle and your power is endless. So is your defeat.
THE HANGING MAN*
12 Hang in there, dispensed is your action and postponed your porn. The erotic sometimes lingers in the in-action, the in-take, the innate and you’ll feel again when the time is ready. Blessed your confusion, for it is the source of creativity. Seen to be continued.
ARCANUM WITHOUT A NAME / DEATH
13 Bones are cells and cells are queer and queer is blessed. Those who knew your name can’t whisper anymore, you cut off their heads, for their silence wouldn’t protect them. Naked skeleton, your scythe be blessed to cut off what doesn’t belong to our gender-bending body – dysmorphia must come to an end.
14 Balanced blessings, beings been there. The angel wings of your wisdom will take all of us to new heights. High on the past and the future, drinking their teachings, divine flow of juices sweet like peach emojis and tacos on a Tuesday night.
15 Devilish desires, for what is dark wants to be tasted. Blessed be the deviant, divine in origin, misunderstood and misinterpreted. What to bridge if there was no gap and doesn’t the pope pop by the darkroom every now and then?
16 Thrown out of the house by divine flashes, orgasms worthy of deities living in the core of the quantum that sparked joy long before queens walked their first ball. Take your trophy and carry it to the freedom you’ve gained, coming outs are just a construction, a disciplinary force field.
17 Kneel down and bless what is close to you, as it is as much the universe at large as local galaxies combined in lush lust clusters. When stars make love, the phoenix of 70ies lesbian poetry burns the flesh away. Which bush do you want to sit on?
18 Let’s lick the thickened blossoms, just us. Receiving predates giving and so the moon will tell you stories unheard if you would listen to her. Bow down before the dogs of eternity, spell them backwards and you’ll find god.
19 Oh, divine father, you’ve come this far but your PR is bad and so we will have to father ourselves, not needing your blessing, but finding you within ourselves and that what shines and is holy will be whole by our own grace and gratitude.
20 Oh great, now you’ve come to the conclusion that the binary is a false friend and that the core of existence, the very essence, that what prolongs and procreates, is outside the prayers of a system with two poles. We don’t judge you. But we’ve been waiting – humming celestial sounds.
21 All lessons learned, incarnation incorporated: In flesh, you learned to commemorate cycles unfolding, never square. Everything is in it’s place – for now. Naked and free, we abandoned all facades for the sake of sustainability. But the future wouldn’t be queer if it wasn’t always tomorrow and always to be longed for.
Words by Kevin Junk
Illustration by Pablo Martin-Ortiz
Kevin Junk is a poet and content creator based in Berlin. In his writing, he explores contemporary queer culture. As a Pisces sun, the occult and esoteric always fascinated him. He is part of @voices4_berlin, a queer activism group focused on direct action aiming for queer liberation. Follow him on Instagram @lupodoro.